Hero
by Frogus
Summary: Tarun flees to Hyrule to regain himself after his hometown is obliterated, his childhood along with it. But his past is persistent and soon he is mixed up in forces he can't understand, smothered by a dream he once abdicated.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic ever. For some reason I decided to have my own main character. Much of the stuff in this chapter has nothing to do with actual Twilight Princess (the only character from the games insofar is Zelda), but they'll be more and more connections as the plotline unfolds. Tell me what you think. All encouragement and criticism is welcomed. Thanks :D

2nd Draft--made a few plot additions, improved a few parts here and there. Thanks for the critique and/or encouragement so far. Major stylistic improvements will be made as I continue with the story, lest I never finish it in my lifetime.

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**Chapter 1**

**Tarun  
**

The typical Hylian night would blaze with heavenly radiance from a myriad of stars. Gentle cosmic luminance would reflect upon the placid surface of Lake Hylia. It would not be silent; a hound would frequently sound its lonely bale, an owl would hoot, or a brief chat between two old friends would sound in the streets. The prodigious moon would be a beacon for wandering adventurers, guiding them towards the great silhouette of Hyrule Castle: a sanctuary from the aggressive wild, a shield of adamantine deflecting malevolence.

But this was not a typical Hylian night.

Where the stars should have twinkled, darkness intruded--the same tenebrosity that had devoured the moon. Lake Hylia sat cold and black, and the castle, barely revealed by the weak firelight of the town, loomed oppressively rather than protectively: the monstrous fortress of an ice princess. The wolves hid in their caves, the owls in their trees, and the people in their nightmares. A pervasive silence thrived in their stead, smothering all who dared defy it.

This was evil's night. A time when Hyrule stood as the graveyard that it was--a harbor for the long-dead warriors who fought so valiantly to protect it.

Tarun tried to ignore the anxiety that prodded his heart, timidly waiting for the onset of morning, though latently feeling that no morning was strong enough to penetrate this particular night. He shook his head, trying to shake worries from his consciousness, awaiting the zephyrs that so often swept in from the fields to cool his tension. But this night offered none; only a heart-thumping stillness. What was happening to him? Was this the way the proud Royal Guard were suppose to act--so nervous, so skittish? He must have hid his fallacies well, else Sia would have never regarded him with any shred of affection.

Just the thought of Sia made his heart flutter. Their last confrontation had been seared into his memory as if each variation of her rosy countenance, each wave of her elegant hand, each word from her lively lips were the most important things in the world.

Then he remembered the content of that confrontation. We can never be together. But what did that mean, and why had she said it? Could she still love him? No, that was impossible. A head priestess and a anonymous royal guard--the mere thought was so ludicrous that Tarun resented himself for believing it. Yet the idea still lurked in Tarun's mind, and Sia's suggestive instructions offered no recourse. Meet her at her house at midnight. Come alone.

The force from his knock opened the door; quizzically, it had stood ajar. He pushed it open to meet the gloom. Smothering his anxieties, he crept in.

"Sia?" he said, his hand hovering over the gladius at his waist, footsteps echoing off the clean tile floor. The room's opulence somehow penetrated the gloom. Carefully placed pottery twinkled at him. A tasteful divan cast an obtuse shadow. Crystal glasses. A tall candle: smoldering.

"Sia?"

Discovering no sign of her whereabouts, Tarun hesitantly ascended the marble stairs to the second floor hall. Dark windows lined it on the left, doors on the right. He proceeded, now clutching the hilt of his weapon. Blood throbbed in his ears...

A faint whimper, clearly coming from the last room. A name sprang from from his memory and rippled through his mind: Ruth... He winced at the inner pain it caused, a sorrow that threatened to drown his concentration. He literally shook his head in an attempt to scatter his emotions, but his efforts proved fruitless, so he decided to act first before he was swallowed up in some horrendous memory. He lunged through mind and matter, shattering his oppressive feelings and spinning to peer into the last room.

He blinked.

Later, he would try to remember the exact details of the incident, rotating it over and over in his mind. But some details never came. The room he entered could have been large or small, lit or unlit, decorative or austere. Its attributes were, however, irrelevant at the time. Thoughts were irrelevant. His attention was wholly consumed by the tormented figure before him: the epitomization of his nightmares.

She was propped up against a wall, bound by unseen fetters. He nearly bounded to help Sia, but something obstructing his way: a shadow, different from the other shadows, hovering in the air before him. It seemed to be some sort of humanoid creature: ligaments, a torso, a head, and...

Eyes. Feline, chiseled, stone-cold eyes, slicing through his facets and gazing into his soul. Triangular ears, pricked up in intelligent alertness. A black arm, characterized by exotic, iridescent tattoos, extending toward him, ending in a deliberately balled fist.

He made the connection.

But it was too late to react.

The creature's fist burst open, and an invisible force exploded into Tarun. He was projected far, then down, down, down, the sound of shattering glass splitting the night.

------------------------------------------------

It took him a few moments to realize that his eyes had already opened. What had happened? Had he lost consciousness? Pain jolted madly through his nerves, dulling his cognition. The contours of an image leaned over him--the shadow creature.

His hand moved feebly for the gladius. It touched only glass shards.

"Human," the creature said derisively, a paucity of pathos tinging its multidimensional voice. A glowing arm was outstretched, presumably to perform a swift coupe de grâce. Somebody screamed in protest.

The dark face furrowed in preemptive concentration, but an expression of pain spontaneously displaced it, and the creature gripped its shoulder. The complimentary sound of skewering air, which must have travelled slower than the projectile itself, followed shortly. The monster screeched and retreated to the shadows. Arrows peppered its path.

Tarun felt his consciousness draining, but turned his heavy head to glimpse the creature's escape, hoping to get some direction for an eventual pursuit. No such luck. Standing over its Sia, the undefinable sorcerer twirled ritually in the air, and both bodies degenerated into hundreds of dark, square leaflets, which ascended into the night.

They were gone.

Sia...

Tarun passed out, sneering with the awareness that history had repeated itself.

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Images grasped him. He was helpless. Strapped to a chair and forced to witness the workings of his chaotic subconsciousness.

An emerald-clad figured lowered its bow. Guards approached precariously. "What happened?" The figure extended a gloved hand towards the metallic object that had fallen in the creature's wake. As lanterns drew near, light splattered over the trinket. He froze. A beast howled in the distance.

The scene shifted, became more surreal, more amorphous, a series of concepts rather than scenes. A burning village. Raindrops hitting forest leaves. Thorns. Blood.

It changed again, became a memory replaying pellucidly before him.

"Hail, princess Zelda!"

The great doors burst open, revealing the gem of Hyrule. A great shuffle resonated through the hallway as the guards dutifully shifted into honorable stances. She was no less than a diamond; chiseled to perfection, polished with wisdom, she transversed the great hall with powerful dignity that characterized her lineage, yet with an aura of paradoxical humility, revealing a shred of genuine humanity absent in typical royalties. Locked in the same blank stare that the guard's respectfully held, Tarun peripherally gazed at her. He was still unaccustomed to the princess's rare visage and entirely doubted that he ever would--ever could--become accustomed.

He tried to preserve the mental imprint of the extolled princess after she had disappeared behind two massive doors, but it was as fleeting as a sunset.  
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A soft voice called out his name.

Sia?

He swam to it, groped for it for driftwood. He opened his eyes to see those familiar blue eyes, that ray of golden hair. As his mind regenerated, the illusion dissolved; it wasn't Sia, but he wasn't altogether disappointed.

Pointed ears. Hazel-blonde hair. The dark, golden crown, with a cloudy emerald set within it. Zelda's silk voice washed over his turbulent consciousness like a calm wave. "Tarun, wake up."

He couldn't speak--couldn't believe his eyes. But something was wrong. He had never seen Zelda quite like this before. When she spoke, her voice somehow retained its consistent temperament, but the same couldn't be said of her countenance; its intimidating, sometimes cold detachment had been snapped by tension. Her eyes were a little less dry, her hair a little less brilliant.

The diamond had been chipped.

"You--" he stopped suddenly, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. "Your Majesty. What happened?"

"You survived quite a fall. You nearly broke your back. How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer his question. What happened to Sia?

"I'm fine, I guess," he replied, neglecting formalities. Zelda's immaculate face was unusually close to his own. Anxiously, he realized that he had never been nearer to the princess.

No, that wasn't true. He had known one princess, a long time ago.

"What were you doing at her home?" she said.

Tarun accessed his recovering memory. Glass. Stairs. A letter. A door. "She sent me a letter requesting my presence last night. She said it was about some--" he hesitated, unsure if he was violating Sia's trust in him. Zelda's eyes flickered, as if noting his reticence. No, there was nothing that Sia withheld from Zelda, her closest friend. "...some 'confidential' matter. She wouldn't tell me, your majesty."

"So you don't have any clue as to why she may have summoned you?" Zelda inquired, her countenance locked in genuine pensiveness. Apparently, Sia had indeed never told Zelda about the mission. Or she simply never had the time.

"No," he responded bluntly. Glassy-eyed or not, Zelda was still the princess of Hyrule, not his best friend. He gave a concise report about the entire incident. Entering Sia's house. Climbing the stairs. The conclusion left a chilling silence in the air.

"So she never gave you anything of particular interest?"

Why is she asking me this? Maybe she did know more about the assignment that he thought she did--more than he knew. "No."

The princess' eyes pierced his own, and he knew she was trying to read him. Confident in his sincerity, she turned and paced to the window and gazed out at the downpour. "Tarun...tell me about yourself."

Was this some kind of test? Tarun didn't say it, but he'd much rather just get up and leave than share his life story with the most daunting potentate in Hyrule--perhaps, even, the entire world. Besides, he didn't know where to begin.

As if sensing this latter complexity, Zelda said, "Tell me about Selorn."

The way she said it suggested she was talking about an event rather than a place. Personally, he simply didn't want to discuss either. He didn't want to remember; Selorn wasn't his home anymore, and the memories that went with it had become unfamiliar to him over the years. Hyrule was his home. New experiences. New memories. He had come here and adapted, and he wasn't going to leave, not in body, not in mind.

Pit.

Pat.

Outside, raindrops were falling heavy upon the soggy earth. The ambient din summoned powerful memories that Tarun's still brittle mind struggled to suppress. There was pain in those memories. There was love too, but it was mostly pain. Zelda turned away from the window, waiting for his response.

"When I was fifteen, Selorn was attacked," he began, struggling to be apathetic, "A band of thieves from Gerudo came from the desert, entered into the forest, and invaded our village." He hesitated, pondering how much information he should reveal--how deeply he could discuss memories without becoming too emotionally turbulent. "The attack inspired me to become a soldier of Hyrule, so I moved to the city." The lie was crude, but he pulled it off well as he had in countless other incidences.

"Your motive is revenge, then?" Zelda posed. Many soldiers were deployed to seek out and apprehend thieves. The criminals of Gerudo were an especially high priority.

Tarun contemplated it. He wondered how long he could continue to invent fabrications under the princess' unrelenting scrutiny. Eventually, he resolved to tell as much of the truth as he could. But how much of the truth did he know? There were many reasons he left, why he couldn't return to the broken town which harbored him, why he couldn't settle for Ordorn or some other farming district. But, as he pondered the question, he realized that, though he naturally thirsted for the bittersweet taste, vengeance had not been the fuel that powered his flight.

Then he noticed Zelda's suddenly grave stare upon him--a steel gaze that was completely impervious to his analyzations. He gradually realized that the emotions she had revealed earlier were just a ploy to gain his confidence. Why did she care so much about him? Why couldn't she just stop? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

Was she trying to take him apart, piece by piece?

She must have noted his reluctance to elaborate. It was clear to her that he was filtering out many essential pieces of his life. "Tarun..." again sounding sympathetic, as if they were old friends, "...what do you fear to tell your princess?"

Her final words, though softly spoken, tore into Tarun more deeply than any sword. They sliced through his mental dams, and he was tossed into a memory so horrific that it threatened his well-crafted veneer. If only she knew how she mocked him! If only she understood his agony, that angry touch of betrayal, that pain of loss, that eternal ghost of the past that tormented him daily!

She awaited his reply.


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter (finally). Tell me what you think--all (polite) criticism is welcome.

...and so is praise. Heh. Heh. Neh.

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** Chapter 2**

**Sunrise, Sunset**

**  
Two years ago...**

Beyond the swaying canopies, the sky grew lighter and lighter, and the easternmost stars faded out. The magnificent sun replaced them, first peaking over the canopies, then displaying its full might to the waking world. Tarun loved that fire; he absorbed it like fuel, allowed it to break through his body and electrify his blood. He remained perched on the branch for some time, executing this cycle of spiritual photosynthesis. Silently, he promised to seize the day, remembering well a platitude that had found its way into one of his grandmother's countless stories: seize your life, for it is the dust of the Earth, the light of the Sun, and the sweat of the Gods. And, as the soil beneath stirred with its myriad of inhabitants, and the clouds stirred overhead, the promise became so strong that it seemed basic prescience. He would seize the day, and all the days following that, surely for the rest of his life. It was as certain as the sunrise. 

But the day could not be claimed up in his lonely perch, and, spiritual fervor aside, there was work to be done, so Tarun climbed hastily down his tree and sprinted through the sparse underbrush of Fagorn Forest, where the music of the waking world was fading in. Birds sung sweetly as they mingled amongst the trees, undisturbed by the monkeys, who, taken in by the fresh spring air, chuckled more than usual. Tarun inhaled with easy breaths, his body well accustomed to the exercise, his feet certain of their destination.

Then, coming upon a gravel road, Tarun halted to find that certainty erased, to find his previously vacant mind now occupied by the thoughts that had often haunted his ordinarily cheerful existence as of late. He stood, heart thudding in his chest, staring both ways down the road, unable to decide which way to travel, as if he had forgotten the correct direction even after taking it day after day. Unable to decide, his imagination somehow sailed down both.

To the South, Tarun knew, the road led to his home and its people--a simple place with simple folks, who were just stirring from their undisturbed slumbers. They stretched and yawned and fantasized about all the things they would accomplish today: milk the cows, exchange some rupees, send a letter to a relative in Ordorn or Kakariko or Hyrule. And all the while, Rizo was already awake, probably subtracting rupees from Tarun's wage for each minute the lazy-ass teenager was late to a job that was a complete epitomization of busy-work.

To the North, though, Tarun knew a whole universe of adventure awaited his curious step. The boisterous Gorons danced in their mountains, while the Zora dived into their realms of crystal water. He could see them before him: two burly gorons, engaged in an epic match of sumo-wrestling, then a smooth, curved Zora woman diving through a sparkling waterfall and into the large basin, where many more of her kind frolicked in the deep. He had never even seen a Zora, but from what he had heard from his grandmother, each possessed a regal kind of beauty. And, beyond them--these characters of Tarun's well-trained imagination--the sparsely populated lands of sand and ice awaited a pioneer's step, harboring ancient secrets just waiting to be unlocked in the name of curiosity.

Yet the most magnificent aspect of all thrived in the center: a glorious woman--too youthful to be ordained "queen"--a heart imbued with ferocity of the Gorons, a mind touched by the serenity of the Zora, a legendary soul more mysterious than any enigma within sand or snow. Tarun saw her now--that brilliant emerald glinting from her tiara, that Triforce blazing upon her pure dress: symbols to which all brave soldiers would rally when the princess, herself a symbol of wisdom and hope, was threatened.

Tarun's grandmother had told hundreds of stories about these heroes--Marth the Swift, Rauru the Wise, the White Knight, and, most memorable of all, the Hero of Time, along with countless other embodiments of valiancy that designed the eternal world of bravery, camaraderie, and triumph.

The world of heroes.

And it all dwindled down to a simple decision. Tarun possessed no dissenting valuables, no dependent family members. It was just a single step in the other direction.

As easy as going right instead of left.

I could do it. I really co--

"You're late, boy," the man said, tossing a hoe at Tarun.

Tarun was so startled that he barely caught the tool without cutting himself. "Bwa--I mean, what?"

A bulky, bearded man looked at him quizzically.

"I mean...sorry."

"Nice catch, though." Rizo chuckled at him and walked back to the farmhouse. Tarun watched the immense man go, still somewhat lost within his fantasies. He had almost done it this time--gone right instead of left. He might have done it, too.

But there was one thing that held him back.

As usual, Tarun's work was accompanied by serious contemplations, but these eventually devolved into assessments of the fruits. Tarun felt his fantastical imagination calming as he slashed the weeds and hilled the shoots. This simple, mundane work occasionally proved as refreshing as the luscious red tomatoes it yielded, for it was easy, amidst the fresh air, cooling breeze, and bright sun, to dismiss his plans as mere whims, to question how he could possibly want to leave this place that was his home, where his friends surrounded him, where the sun was guaranteed to be bright, the rain always fell soft and abundant, and the tomatoes grew so large that they bore down their own stalks.

But, when he saw Rizo's daughter on the porch, waving, he realized that not every aspect of his life in Selorn was so frustratingly basic--no, everything about Ruth was invigoratingly complex: that flowing, raspberry blonde hair flowing with the breeze, a complexion that belittled the sunflowers in the fields.

"Tarun?"

Ruth's beauty had been planted within his fertile heart many ages past, and there it had been nourished by her empathy and pathos, had flourished even amidst his immaturity and incomprehension. Now, in a time when he could finally name it, it was blossoming.

"Tarun!"

But to what end? He asked himself. Marry her? Stay in the village forever? Hoe the weeds and chop the wood and do all the little mundane tasks that Rizo assigned, and, afterwards, resign to examine the same firmament, wake to absorb the same morning sky?He wished nothing more than to depart from this prosaic existence--nothing more to see the sun ascend over windswept sands, gleaming ice, or auburn rocks! But most of all, he wanted Ruth to look upon those same landscapes, experience the breathtaking world by his side! Would she be willing to go with him? Could she be willing?

"Dammit, Tarun! What do I pay you for? Stop eying my daughter and get back to work!"

The tomatoes were jealous of his blush.

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And so, Tarun labored deep into the afternoon free from thoughts regarding his departure. Unfortunately for him, not only had such thinking become ingrained within his daily mental cycle, another villager--his coworker and best friend, no less--thought similarly.

When he saw the grim look on Aro's face, Tarun knew that Rizo had assigned them to another job that brimmed with apparent pointlessness. "He needs us to chop down ten or so trees," said Aro.

Tarun gave him a quizzical look. "What for?"

Aro shrugged. "Do you think he tells me? All I know that is that this probably means a lot more work for the both of us. After this, he probably wants us to do something with the wood--build a cabin or something, who knows?"

"Great. Just great. Well let's get started."

They retrieved hatchets from the shed, sharpened them, and, arriving at the edge of the forest, put them to use on sturdy trees, each boy working on his own with occasional, albeit brief, conversations, which dwindled as exhaustion grew.

As sunset drew near, they stopped working to view it. Around them, the world turned to gloom as the weary white orb trickled down the firmament. Aro exhaled. "Haven't you ever wanted to...go somewhere?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"To...leave Selorn?"

"You mean to see the world."

"Yeah."

Tarun nodded. "All the time."

"Tarun...I'm doing it."

"What?"

"I said I'm leaving! I'm tired of these mundane chores, tired of this mundane life!"

Tarun couldn't believe his ears. "When?"

"Tomorrow, right after work."

Tarun gawked at him. "Where do you think you're gonna go?"

"I don't know. My sister lives in Hyrule, and I haven't seen her in years. I imagine that would be my first stop."

"And then...?"

"Who knows? Kakariko, the desert. I'd really like to see a Goron."

"What about a Zora?"

"Yeah, ever heard about the girls?"

Tarun laughed hard. "Galavanting around naked all day, right?"

"You got it, bro. Who could pass that up?"

They laughed as the twilight approached. But, amidst all the lightheartedness, a terrible feeling snagged Tarun's heart. "What about the people here?" he said, more to himself than to Aro.

"I don't know, man, I don't know. My parents would probably like to see me go, to join my sister. My dad would definitely be proud of me if I joined the Royal Guard, but they only allow the best of the best."

"What about..." Tarun voice trailed off. He could not speak it, could not bring out the tabooed subject that had been wordlessly wedged between them.

Aro smiled at his hesitation. "I know, I know, Tarun," he said, exhaling heavily. "Look...she loves you. She obviously made her decision, and I can accept that--I have learned to accept it, and there will be plenty of opportunities for me in the future. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"You'll marry her someday, you bastard."

Tarun laughed. "Only if you promise me that you'll get a Zora-girl," he said.

The last drop of sun slipped from the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

Excuse the lateness of this chapter. I think I last published in August. Senior year is harder than it was supposed to be, garh! Anyway, I wrote this chapter months ago, and I could polish it and add to it and make it perfect in my mind and bring it up to my new standards, but I value my youth; so here it is!

Incase you've forgotten what the story is about, here's some reiteration: Tarun works is a royal guard; he, along with many others of his occupation, protect the most important people of Hyrule. Sia, a high priestess, requests his company one night. He gets there in time to see her kidnapped by a small, dark creature, who attacks him. After being knocked unconscious, he wakes up and is interrogated by Zelda. Then, the story flashbacks to his life in Selorn, where he is love with his childhood friend Ruth and works for her father, Rizo. Tarun, an adolescent at this point, is extremely ambitious but hesitant to leave. He is surprised to find that Aro, his coworker and best friend, is equally ambitious and intends to leave for Hyrule soon.

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Chapter 3

Ruth

The sun baked him every minute of the cloudless day, but when it descended into the horizon, a cool wind swept in from the forest. Tarun and Aro put away their tools, collected a small but sufficient sum of fifteen rupees from Rizo.

As Aro walked away, Rizo beckoned Tarun. "I've something to give you, lad; something you'll appreciate. Stop by tonight."

Exhausted but but satisfied with the day's work, and perplexed by Rizo's unusual invitation, Tarun sauntered to the small wooden cabin that had once been the home of his parents. It was a quaint, single-roomed place hugged by the forest and standing slightly away from the rest of village, with weathered logs and sparse adornments to meet a guest's eyes. The interior was equally mediocre; there, pragmatism overruled aestheticism. Accordingly, the house fit Tarun like clothing (which, irrespective of the house, was becoming increasingly unfit for him), but it was a wonder how both his parents could have lived together within such a tiny space, even for the short time that they did so.

Suddenly, he felt himself wondering about his parents and what his grandmother had once--and only once--disclosed about their undoing. In all of the golden years that had passed by, Tarun had easily dismissed the incident. Now, it detached itself from the whole of his memories and addressed his consciousness. _Your parents, Tarun? What impels you to make such an inquiry? Curiosity, you say? Curiosity can be lethal! Remember the fate of Curias the Lethally Curious? No, I'm not trying to change the subject! Let's just leave it at this: your parents died heroically defending the people of Hyrule--and of this I make no exaggerations or stretches of the imagination. Further details I cannot reveal, at least not yet. You do not yet understand the realm of adults; you have something that people my age envy._

While he was stripping to take a bath, he imagined, albeit briefly, that he was his father, stripping himself of mighty, golden armor after an intense battle protecting the princess. Perhaps it really would be like that in a few years. Perhaps he could be a hero like his father.

"Someday. But not today," he soliloquized.

"Hmm?" peeped a voice.

Tarun jumped. From outside, a girl leaned in on the window of the cabin."Sorry, am I interrupting anything?" Ruth said, smiling wryly. Tarun grinned, partially from the euphoria that coincided with her sight; partially because while his pants were still fortuitously attached to his body, his biceps and abdominal muscles--fairly recent developments--stood triumphantly exposed.

"Of course not," Tarun smirked, "You're just in time for the show."

Something about Ruth's laughter hinted at her unspoken observations regarding his physique.

She sighed. "How was Dad?"

"Brutal! He made me and Aro go to the woods and chop like ten trees down for lumber! What's he going to use it for?"

"I dunno...a fire?"

"With a fire like that he'll burn down the whole forest! Anyway, it was too much today. We left some of it tomorrow, though he's making me pick the tomatoes tomorrow (and who knows what ridiculous project he has for Aro?) so I don't know if we'll have time."

"You probably should have done it today. Don't you remember the old story of Princess Procrastina? Never leave for the future what you can accomplish in the present." she recited.

Ah, another tale spun by his grandmother. Tarun's light exhalation through his nostrils signified a chuckle, but his response was solemn. "What if the present doesn't offer the right opportunities?"

_What am I talking about? I have the best opportunities! Whom else would she love but me? _True, save for Aro, they were the only adolescents in the entire village. They had indeed known each other for their entire lives. But this could be more of an obstacle than an advantage. What if they had become like siblings?

"Is something bothering you?"

He met her eyes.

_If only you knew that "something" was you..._

"I dunno. I'm just tired, that's all." He imitated a yawn as best he could.

She didn't seem convinced.

"Hey," he said, "you up for a walk tonight?"

"I have a lot of nothing to do, but I think I can make the time."

"Good. It'll be just you and me--under the stars." He said lightly, restraining a love so eager to be liberated.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Silence. Was she merely playing along? Or was she, like him, trying desperately to express a difficult emotion?

"I'll leave you now to wash; I don't want your rather prevalent odor to ruin an otherwise magical evening," she said, her light spirit lingering even as she departed. But on a subconscious level Tarun believed that she was sending him some sort of message; it was something about the way she said "magical"--something subtle within her tone when she said "I thought you'd never ask"--that fueled his hopes.

But they were hopes accompanied by dread. He had to tell her; if not his sake, at least for _their _sake, lest they both be deprived of the mystic experience that was love--the sacred materialization of physical, mental, and spiritual intimacy, extolled by the compassionate, damned by the lonely, existing nevertheless as a prime component of human nature--an exclusion for which his cowardice would be wholly responsible. He could not live with that unharnessed potential, could not thrive with such regret, could not depart from his otherwise simplistic existence before completing this singular task, lest it be his fate to wander the wide world alone, to gaze into sunrises that were best fit for a pair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Crimson Past, Crimson Future**

Rizo gazed at his own reflection in the blade of the weapon--examined his wrinkles, watched those soulful eyes examine him. His two fingers passed over the hilt; the texture had distant familiarity, like a dream. Had it really been that long? Had it really been that long since he locked souls with it, since the two had danced, had hewn, had scarred, in the name of those lost principles for which he had once zealously fought? It had been long enough for him to find some glint of peace and raise a family in this secluded community. In all of those years, the gladius had hung high on his wall, watching as his daughter grow up and his wife grow old. _But it can't watch over them forever. And neither can I._

"Rizo?"

To his satisfaction, the boy had been prompt_. He'll do well._

"Please, sit down, Tarun," said Rizo, his back still turned. The boy resigned to the nearest armchair, eying the sword as well, as he always did here in its presence, dreaming of its history. As Rizo recalled that history--not the fantastical one conjured in the boy's imagination, where, Rizo surmised, fair play and heroics prevailed, but the dark images in Rizo's memory--he felt a long-harbored sorrow nip his soul, and suddenly he could not believe that he had held onto the weapon; it was the knife a butcherer, the emblem of his blood-spattered history.

_This sword has slain more than it has saved. _

And it wasn't all mathematics. Light hearts, dark hearts--it had not mattered; this blade had targeted indiscriminately. Some victims had been criminals of life, those bloodthirsty individuals who take for the sake of taking. They, perhaps, had deserved it. But for the others, it had been their convictions, ideologies that contested too greatly with his own. Like a god, he had judged them to be incompatible with his perceptions of logic, and, with a well-placed incision by the sword, they had been eradicated.

But perhaps the weapon's future would delineate from its past. Tarun seemed noble enough. He was not to type to take life so drastically as Rizo once did, wise enough to flee instead of fight if circumstances called for it. But Rizo only knew the boy's character within the confines of Selorn. Who knew how the boy's virtues would be warped by the corruption of the outside world? What if the child's supposed wisdom should reveal itself to be merely masked cowardice? Could this adolescent distinguish between the time for bloodshed and the time for selflessness?

"I need to know something, boy," Rizo said, surprised by the darkness of his own voice. He stared deeply into the weapon, then into Tarun's eyes. Perhaps there was something in them besides the twinkle of the flames. But perhaps age was making him delusional.

"What is it?" said Tarun, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. They stared at each other through the reflective blade.

"I need to know if I can trust you."

Tarun gave him a quizzical look.

Rizo swallowed. "Tarun...you're fast approaching adulthood. Soon, you will be in the very midst of feelings that you may not be entirely familiar with yet. Ambition. Unrest. Love."

Tarun's eyes flickered.

"And with adulthood comes certain responsibility. It is your duty--to your friends and family--that you keep your ambition in check, control your unrest, and protect the ones you love."

Now the boy's eyes swept to the gladius. Rizo continued. "I don't know what your plans are from here, but whatever you choose to do, always keep that latter rule in mind, for it is your _greatest_ duty. As much as your ambition expands, and however your unrest grows, remember to always protect the ones you love. Especially the _one_ you hold dearest to your heart."

For the first time, their eyes tore off the weapon and met each other. Complete and utter comprehension.

"I will protect her," said Tarun.

Rizo turned. "Which is why I'm conveying this--this, the same blade that has watched over her for her entire life--to you, that you may carry it for the same purpose, that you may release its fury when it calls upon you."

"But sir," Tarun protested, "what will I ever need it for?"

"Tarun, I know of your aspirations. I can see it in your eyes. They're your father's eyes."

Tarun breathed. "You knew my father."

Rizo nodded. "He was ambitious too--always wanted to see the world. So do you, and I know you wish to take my daughter with you. And, although I wish this were not true--you are much needed hand here on the farm, and I love my daughter more than anything in the world--but it would be unrighteous to smother the spirit of so young a man, when I, too, was once endowed with as similar spirit.

"And do not fool yourself into thinking that these are peaceful times. A hungry darkness always awaits to consume this realm, and there are things that, in your inexperience--of which, inoffensively, you have much--that may require the touch of this blade. But be forewarned. Use it when needed, for life is as precious as it is fragile.

"Now, boy, I need you vow." He sheathed the gladius and brought it before Tarun. "To use this blade wisely. To protect my daughter, whatever ill fate should confront her."

"I do so vow," Tarun said as he accepted the weapon. Rizo felt an immense burden slide from his shoulders as the transfer proceeded. Tarun nodded, and made to leave. Rizo felt sick inside, as if he had given a piece of himself to the boy. Here he was, an old man without a sword, without his legend, with only his death to brood over for whatever years preceded it.

Suddenly feeling very awkward, Rizo said, "And don't forget that you're not going anywhere until you finish building that fishing boat."

"What fishing boat?" Tarun said on his way out.

"Remember chopping up all that wood?"

The boy grimaced. Rizo chuckled and showed him to the door, but Tarun stopped short at the threshold.

For a moment, Rizo hoped that the sword would be returned, that he may remake his legend, or at least dance with the weapon one more time in the starlight. But Tarun held it tightly, and Rizo could feel no bitterness to him. Fate had ordained the transaction.

"My father," Tarun began, spoken as if his father was comparable to a god in magnificence and mystery. "What was he like?"

The words were cataclysmic; Rizo's blood fled from his extremities and refuged into his sinking heart. The grief, the agony, the remorse he had felt over what he had done! And with the same sword that he now passed to the man's own son!

"He was the greatest man I ever knew."

Rizo's eyes murdered Tarun's curiosity. There would be no more questions from the boy; only those swirling perpetually in the old man's soul.

And so, Tarun turned and left with the gladius, unaware of its crimson past.

Unaware of its crimson future.


End file.
